The Vestige
by A.E.Vespera
Summary: Following the defeat of the Dark Lord, Severus Snape awakens to find that he has survived.  Now, he must experience the fluctuation in a postwar society and endure the fallout of what remains.


**Author's Note**: I would like a beta reader, so if you are interested, let me know. Your help will be much appreciated. Also, this will likely be quite a long story, as this plot is about a year in the making so far. However, I cannot promise extremely frequent updates, as real life (unfortunately) has to take precedence over .

**Disclaimer**: If I were J. K. Rowling, over half of my favorite characters would not have been massacred.

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**CHAPTER 1**

_"An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered; an adventure is an inconvenience rightly considered."_

_- G. K. Chesterton_

"Madame Commissioner, I'm warning you! You are not permitted to be in that room!" commanded an angry-sounding voice, as if the speaker had mentioned said regulation repeatedly, only to be continually ignored.

"Healer Stirling, I have been waiting to speak with Severus Snape for over a month!" exclaimed the Commissioner indignantly in a high, simpering voice that was glaringly recognizable. "This matter, I assure you, is of utmost importance! If the Minister knew of your insistence to delay me even further—

The Healer interrupted her fervently. "The Minister, I assure _you_, has enough tact and self-respect to agree with me! Despite your addled perception of how imperative your lovely meeting is, you may cause him serious harm if you simply barge in there and –

"That man doesn't deserve protection! And I highly doubt a few questions will be as detrimental as you claim," replied the Commissioner in falsely sweet tones that were obviously tinted with resentment on the edges. Suddenly, the footsteps slowed, and it appeared that the two had paused, quite possibly to glare at each other.

The Healer's voice became precariously low and acid-like. "You are speaking about _my patient_, not some criminal, Madame Commissioner. If you force him from a magically-induced coma before the full effects of the medication take hold, he might _never_ be capable of answering you."

However, the advice was apparently not enough to dissuade the stubborn resolve of the intended recipient. The clanging of footsteps grew more frequent and nearer, and the Commissioner resumed shouting.

"That is none of my concern! There's the room—

"—Commissioner!—"

Then, at the most unfathomably inopportune moment, Severus distinctly heard a door slam open. '_Oh, joy_,_'_ he thought. _'I have returned to consciousness_._'_

"Well, Healer Stirling, have I killed him?" inquired the Commissioner smugly. Severus rather wished she had.

The Healer scoffed dismissively. "It appears that fate has found favor with you today, Madame Commissioner."

Subsequently, a tense silence enveloped the atmosphere. Severus, eyes still firmly shut, debated the logic in feigning further incapacitation to avoid participation in the ensuing altercation, but his decision was soon made for him.

"Professor Snape, it seems you have a visitor, as I'm sure you've noticed," said the Healer in a perfectly conversational tone. Now that the Healer tapered her outrage, she had a crisp Scottish accent.

Severus reluctantly opened his eyes and was instantly assaulted with the sheer brightness of the room. The décor of the tiny hospital room was a garish shade of lime green, not drastically unlike the robes donned by the Healer. At the moment, Healer Stirling, a witch of not more than thirty with slightly curly butterscotch-colored hair that fell to her shoulders, was peering at him with her light gray eyes. Severus suspected that she had realized he overhead the majority of the incident in the hallway, as her look fleetingly shifted to one of benign apology for the intrusion.

The other individual, unfortunately, was not capable of such professionalism. Dolores Umbridge stood at the doorway, unabashedly displaying her penchant for immature girlishness by her pink robes and frills, with an expression of mottled fury and self-satisfaction on her toad-like face.

"Excellent," said Umbridge sweetly. "Healer Stirling, your services are no longer required."

The Healer's eyes narrowed and she turned to address Umbridge, but her voice remained strangely level. "No, I will be staying here. You may have jurisdiction to invade a patient's room, but I will not leave you unattended with one who is in critical condition."

Then, she settled herself in a chair at the far corner of the room near the window, deliberately orienting herself so she was closer to Severus than she was to Umbridge. Severus groaned inwardly. He had a monstrous headache, was apparently hospitalized, and was undergoing remarkable difficulty in recalling exactly what debacle had landed him in such a sorry state.

Umbridge began again, this time more condescendingly. "This is classified information—

"—which I am confident the _Daily Prophet_ will publish in stunning entirety directly following this interview. If you intend to banish me from your presence, you will have to procure an official order and return later. And, besides, I think my unwanted company would be a wonderful addition to your article. It would certainly add gusto to the thrilling tale of your heroic endeavor to wheedle incriminating evidence from a severely ill patient," finished Healer Stirling brightly.

Umbridge seemed to overlook the offense and proceeded to plow onward into the interrogation. However, Severus assumed what would have been a stunning feat of maturity was actually due to Umbridge's inability to comprehend a word of what the Healer said. She likely assumed that, with all of those compliments tossed in, the padding words were probably just as complimentary and void of sarcasm.

"Mr. Snape –

"_Professor_ Snape," corrected the Healer.

" – following the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the members of the Order of the Phoenix claimed to have known about your innocence during the whole war. Some officials in the Ministry and I, however, find that just doesn't add up," informed Umbridge in sugary tones. Severus suppressed a grimace and opted for silence. It was best to let the woman vent before evasively destroying her arguments.

"Why is it that you defected to Death Eaters?" she asked happily.

Severus' forehead creased as he frowned. Apparently, the blasted Order had decided to cover for him? At least the Potter brat had managed to overcome the Dark Lord. Then, as a horrible wave of memory washed over him, Severus remembered what had caused what was now an intense throbbing in his neck. When the Dark Lord's horrid snake Nagini had bitten him, he had given Potter his memories. He hadn't expected to live, especially not to see this fallout. Potter had obviously been overcome by a strain of guilt and told the Order he was innocent. A sudden feeling of intense embarrassment and resentment for Potter fell upon him. How _much_ had that pathetic child told everyone?

"Excuse me, Professor Snape, can you hear me?"

Of course he could hear her. Reawakening from a near-death experience to discover one's deepest secrets revealed and the most notorious Dark Wizard of all time defeated, in Umbridge's view, was evidently not equitable grounds for a moment's pause.

"Yes," answered Severus succinctly. "And, I did not."

"Do not lie to me!" squeaked Umbridge, voice rising hysterically. "Why, then, did you kill Albus Dumbledore?"

Severus considered the small probability that Umbridge truly cared that Dumbledore had been dispatched. As it seemed likely she was fishing desperately for incriminating evidence, he gave her a stony, impassive look and waited for the inevitable spew of more information on her part. He had a fragment of an idea, but not yet a reasonable theory, regarding what the Order of the Phoenix had revealed to spare his soul.

"The Order seems to believe that you did so on Dumbledore's orders, to uphold your position as a spy," she huffed.

Severus's lips curled into a snide smile. Ordinarily, he would have not voluntarily accepted such a large provision of valuable detail from an enemy. When Umbridge was concerned, however, he flagged it as an attempt by her to boast her extensive knowledge, supplemented by her failure to plan properly.

"That is correct," verified Severus.

"And a completely false story! Who would believe that?" shrieked Umbridge, nearly rising to her feet. "If you told us more, then perhaps the Ministry would be willing to drop charges…"

Finally, Severus detected that they had arrived on the motive for Umbridge's visit. Although he would have to validate the particulars, he was able to ascertain that, likely under Potter's direction, the Order had pronounced him a spy, falsifying an account of their confidence in him during the previous year. It was probable, though, that (especially if Potter had been responsible for the fabrication) that it lacked sufficient detail to slake Umbridge's thirst for some hint of his guilt.

"You have the story. There is no need to supply you with further detail," replied Severus stiffly.

"You can't expect the public to believe—

"They do, Umbridge!" Clearly, Healer Stirling had reached the limit of her politeness. "92% of _Daily Prophet_ readers have absolutely no difficulty in believing Harry Potter! They find themselves capable of wrapping their heads around the concept that one could do something noble and wish to have a private life."

Severus instinctively glared at the Healer upon hearing the word "noble," even before realizing to whom it was being attributed. Although, he would have done precisely the same if he had. The Healer was oddly unhurt by his unappreciative reaction, as if she had been expecting it.

"I won't be answering any more of your questions," stated Severus with finality. "If the Ministry has a quarrel with my conduct, they ought to send another representative."

At that, Dolores Umbridge puffed at him sourly and stormed out the room, muttering and slamming the door as she went.

A few moments later, the Healer rose from her chair and stood before Severus, extending her hand to shake his.

"I'm Adaira Stirling, your Healer," she informed. Severus nodded, assuming she knew his name and not feeling pleasant enough to observe social norms. Stirling went on, unaffected by the faux pas.

"She truly was not permitted to be in here, but there was nothing I could do, short of hexing her, that is." She frowned musingly and continued. "How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?"

Severus contemplated the inquiry for a moment. There was certainly an acute throbbing in his neck, and he was thoroughly sore to the point where he very well could have been bulldozed by a hippogriff and undergone further physical torment, but he also had a strong distrust of medication.

"I do not want any more medication," he replied in a monotone.

The Healer gave him a questioning look. "You do have that right, but answer the question. If you are not in any pain, it is likely you sustained some nerve damage due to the initial spread of the poison, which could significantly prolong your stay here." She paused to allow him to reconsider, but Severus remained stubbornly silent with a severe expression occupying his countenance.

"I am not experiencing any…nerve damage," said Severus, annoyed.

"Very well then," muttered Stirling. "Though, I expect you would like to know what is going on."

Severus nodded, attempting not to appear too eager. This was enough for the Healer.

"Harry Potter defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on the same day you were injured. According to witnesses, he was unconscious to the point where the Death Eaters proclaimed him dead. This was announced to those fighting in the castle, but he regained his senses with sufficient time to dispatch He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I apologize if that was not a particularly thrilling rendition, but you didn't seem the type to be enamored with flair and elaboration," said Stirling, pausing to extract a mahogany wand from her blinding robes.

"I've saved a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ special report," she added, conjuring a small pile of newsprint and offered it to Severus. "I expect it might give you the details more eloquently. It also has a list of the deceased, which it might put more lightly than I would. My patients tell me that I'm a bit too industrious in my delivery of bad news."

Apparently the Healer did not perceive him as well as he had thought. Severus Snape was not one who required horrible death announcements to be given to him along with kind words and sugar. Then, his thinking was interrupted by a deepening look of irritation on the Stirling's face.

"I assure you that your innocence has been fully substantiated in the eyes of the general public. However, there are select _others_ who, if I may be so bold, are far too enraptured by their social status or political holdings to grant you full exoneration. Umbridge has indeed recently made it her personal albatross to see you condemned, and she's unfortunately been supplemented by some entirely ridiculous sensationalism in the press."

The Healer sighed and wrung her hands together. "Do consider your blood pressure before reading the Section H of the _Prophet_. Our dear Umbridge has likely had her stubby fingers in the sanctioning of it as a "War Crimes and Treason" nucleus of sorts, which I would wholly appreciate if it weren't a load of rubbish. They've been investigating a few members of the Order of the Phoenix, for Merlin's sake! And entirely overlooking Umbridge and her cronies at the Muggle-Born Registration Commission—"

Stirling suddenly fell silent, abruptly halting her narration, which had been rapidly approaching a tirade. Then, she once again pressed her palms together as if silently, yet highly reluctantly, readjusting her mental composure. "Now you realize why I should have left the explaining to your other visitors."

Severus suppressed an amused sneer, wondering if the Healer's bedside manner was always so poor or if it was simply exacerbated by the frustrating political climate. His certainly would be, but, then again, there was no possible factor that could _ever_ sufficiently motivate him to become a Healer. Of course, he had also said this about teaching at one happy, relatively annoyance-free point in his life.

Then, Severus derailed himself from his mental tangent. What had happened to his impeccable discipline? "Other visitors?"

"Yes, indeed. The Minister of Magic and the Headmistress of Hogwarts have requested to speak to you as soon as possible. It is regarding urgent business, or so they tell me. Unless you have any other questions, I'll owl them myself, and you can determine how 'urgent' it actually is," finished Stirling, rising from her chair and vanishing it. Unless Pius Thicknesse remained the Minister of Magic, she had forgotten that he had literally no knowledge about post-Dark Lord events save what she had told him and the feeble amounts of information he had gleaned from the pink atrocity. Perhaps it was in the _Daily Prophet_, amidst the sloughs of propaganda which Stirling had alluded to.

"There is one more thing," Stirling added, a look of childlike curiosity dawning on her face. It appeared this was the comment she had been most looking forward to. "The amount of snake venom you managed to endure was…impressive. Astonishing, even. When I analyzed your blood, I noticed there was a level of tolerance to it that could have only been achieved through ingesting small doses over time. I don't mean to bother you, but how long had you been doing this for?"

Severus was rather taken aback. Although he had long recognized the probability of facing an untimely death at the hands of the Dark Lord, snakebites being only one of myriad of exciting possibilities, he had never considered doping with snake venom. For a moment, he mulled over _who_ would have acted favorably in his interest in such a way, as well as who was privy to knowledge that he routinely spent a fair bit of time in close proximity to a highly temperamental poisonous snake. The answer came to him very quickly. Severus would indeed be having a lengthy conversation with a certain painting one day about the highly meddlesome compulsions of its late human likeness. Sighing, Severus inferred Dumbledore would have likely resorted to such measures soon after Arthur Weasley was attacked.

"Around two and a half years," Severus answered, an element of irritation leeching into his voice.

The Healer seemed to puzzle over him for a long second, but she soon made for the door.

"Look over that," she suggested as she left the room. "You should find it at least marginally informative."

Severus sighed as Stirling shut the door. It was not typical for him to find himself so thoroughly exhausted, and he was not fond of weakness. Thus, he began idly flipping through the _Daily Prophet_ Special Report, somewhat disgustedly absorbing the details of Potter's altruistic acts of heroism. The obituaries he also regarded with a degree of boredom, only pausing at a few names to wonder who would assume the recently vacated post as resident Gryffindor photographer and how the remaining Weasley twin's schemes would be affected by the loss of his faithful cohort.

Before proceeding to the infamous Section H, Severus detected the faint sounds of conversation in the hall, which had been silent since Stirling had left.

"You should keep to your floor—

"There's two more in today. Thought you should know!" said a man's voice. It sounded rather boyish and out-of-breath, as if the speaker had just run a long distance.

"Are you alright?"

"Stairs! Been searching for you since they came in!"

"Quiet, Augustus! You know Smethwyck is growing suspicious of you lurking on this floor so often. Next time, send me a memo."

"But, Adaira, I need you to come up to the second floor to examine the patients—

Severus disregarded the remainder of the exchange, suddenly distracted by a headline endorsing that he had an inclination for incarcerating large numbers of chickens and magically altering them to smuggle nefarious messages between the Death Eaters. Feeling rather amused, he read on, only to discover that Rita Skeeter was also under the impression that he had a stranglehold over the student body and had brainwashed the Boy-Who-Lived to vouch for him. Little did the moronic woman know that he had never been able to instill even the faintest inkling of respect in the Potter brat. A knock at the door removed him from his thoughts.

"Yes," said Severus in his practiced monotone, and, with that, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall entered his room. Apparently, he now sufficiently not mortally wounded enough to be robbed of privacy by the Healer.

"Severus!" exclaimed Minerva. "Merlin, you look horrible."

He glared, but it lacked its usual potency. After a year of the former Transfiguration Professor silently threatening to kill or maim him, even undignified shock was a pleasant change.

"Thank you for that diagnosis, Minerva. It really is quite appreciated," responded Severus sardonically.

"Well, it's nice to see you alive, at any rate."

Then, Kingsley shook his hand, conjured two stately-looking chairs for him and Minerva, and began without his customary preamble.

"We came to explain the particulars of the legal spat you have been cornered into"

"Immediately after Potter defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he explained the situation and had you transferred here to St. Mungo's. The Ministry brought charges of various aspects of criminal conduct on the surviving known Death Eaters who were captured at Hogwarts the day previous, and they issued warrants for the arrest of those who managed to escape. Of course, you were included, but Potter summoned the Order and informed us of the – motivation – behind your actions, as you apparently provided to him with a number of your memories," explained Minerva.

Minerva knew better than to consciously look on him with anything that remotely approached pity or sympathy, but Severus identified traces of it lining her face. He narrowly suppressed another glare.

"We made an appearance at your hearing – which was held rather illegally in your absence, mind you – and testified we knew all along that you were acting as a double agent, so as to avoid the mention of any unfavorable details which we chose not to reveal, for fear that you would flay us if we did," continued Minerva.

"You were exonerated of all charges, but a certain reporter, assisted by your former colleague, has injected an element of doubt into the populace. Although your sentence did not include imprisonment, you must undergo a year of intense Ministry-supervised parole," reported Kingsley somewhat guiltily. The atmosphere was beginning to adopt a somewhat ominous quality.

"We realize this is appallingly unnecessary, Severus," said Minerva. "However, we have recently taken measures to ensure the process is at least moderately survivable for you."

Now, Kingsley continued. "The Ministry originally mandated that your parole officer maintain residence with you at your home on Spinner's End. Despite the fact that they refuse to depart from the residence requirement, we have persuaded them to allow you to resume your post at Hogwarts, so long as the person also stays at the castle for the school year."

Severus's eyes narrowed angrily. How _dare_ the Wizengamot suggest he allow some arrogant idiot stalk him and monitor his daily activities for an entire year? This was utterly ludicrous. Perhaps he would murder the brainless sod and actually become a felon, but that, unfortunately, would please the pink ghoul and her Ministry cronies.

"And which stunning piece of talent am I to be fettered to, Kingsley?" Severus asked grimly.

Surprisingly, it was Minerva who chose to answer. "Severus, they attempted to set Dawlish on you before Kingsley and I managed to dissuade them."

The delay only exacerbated Severus's sense of foreboding. Whoever it was, it was going to be the most miserable, entirely maddening experience he had ever been forced to—

"Harry Potter."

Severus felt his blood pressure skyrocket as the reality refused to settle in. Livid, he repeated the name in a dangerously quiet tone of rage, one that usually foreshadowed irate shouting.

"Harry Potter?"

"He's training to be an Auror, Severus. Besides that, I need a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I know you despise him, but you would rarely have to be in contact. Only for parole meetings. I have discussed the possibility with him, and he has agreed to make the process as painless as possible for the both of you. Of course, the location is your decision entirely."

It was at times such as these that Severus believed Minerva's claims that the Sorting Hat had briefly debated inducting her into the Slytherin ranks. Comprehending that Severus would rather be fed to colony of carnivorous nifflers than permit the Potter brat to tread a single step past the threshold of his private residence, she had literally left him no option but to catalyze her plan to remedy her staffing crisis, of course under the guise her of being supportive. Severus bestowed both her and Kingsley with one final incensed glare before reluctantly conceding to the absolute devastation of his pride and free will.

"I accept your proposition."

At this, Minerva and Kingsley smiled, whereas Severus groaned. When finally the thought he had evaded another agonizing year of attempting to instruct a horde of misbehaved, magically-unstable juveniles, he was now legally compelled to do so. Minerva and Kingsley departed shortly after the agreement was made, promising to make arrangements for him to be released from St. Mungo's as soon as possible. Thus, Severus was left alone in his room to contemplate his impending year of torture.

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**Another Author's Note**: Thanks for reading. Consider this an example of me formally begging for your reviews.


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